Chapter 10 - Blood over Manhattan
Clara rushed to the reinforced glass window overlooking the southern expanse of Manhattan. Two miles away, at the private river helipad owned by the Castellan estate, thick black smoke was already billowing into the pale morning sky.
"Julian is safe with me," Eleanor Castellan’s voice hissed over the speakerphone, devoid of her usual aristocratic polish, replaced by pure madness. "And your precious design house, Clara? The little atelier where you spent the last four years playing seamstress among the commoners? Look closer."
Clara’s heart dropped into her stomach. Through the haze of city smog, she saw the distinctive brick facade of her modest fashion workshop in SoHo consumed by raging orange flames.
"Mia... Tyler..." Clara gasped, names of her innocent apprentice and fabric cutter tumbling from her lips. "There were people inside!"
"There were," Eleanor mocked. "And there will be many more unless you come to the Castellan ancestral docks alone, Clara. Bring the flash drive containing your family's master security keys. One wrong move, one police siren, and my men will trigger the dirty charges planted along the Vance Global transit tunnels beneath the city."
The line went dead.
Arthur slammed his fist onto the mahogany table, splitting the polished veneer. "Ross, scramble every tactical unit! Seal off the tunnels!"
"No," Clara said. Her voice wasn't shaking anymore. It was dangerously calm, like the eye of an approaching category-five hurricane.
Arthur turned to her, panic flashing in his eyes. "Clara, no. You are not going near that psychopath. I spent eighteen years protecting you from this filth!"
"And that protection is over, Dad," Clara said, walking over to Evelyn and holding out her hand. "Give me the secondary firearm."
Evelyn stared at her daughter for three long seconds. A faint, prideful smile flickered across the hardened mercenary's face. Without a word of protest, Evelyn unclasped the lightweight 9mm pistol from her shoulder holster and placed it firmly into Clara’s open palm.
"Evelyn, are you out of your mind?!" Arthur roared.
May you like
"She’s our blood, Arthur," Evelyn countered coldly. "You can't cage an eagle and expect it to survive when the sky catches fire. We don't run from the Castellans. We bury them."
Clara racked the slide with a clean, practiced motion that stunned her father. "Dad, coordinate with Ross to disarm the transit charges. Mom and I will handle Eleanor."
